


destruction

by OHai_Here, tunnelOFdawn



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Embedded Images, Gen, Light Horror, Mobile friendly, Natsume Yuujinchou Big Bang, Suspense, Youkai, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 23:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20299705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OHai_Here/pseuds/OHai_Here, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunnelOFdawn/pseuds/tunnelOFdawn
Summary: A buzzing in the air, a wail, and then Natsume Takashi’s worldchanges. A story of change told in two parts—architecture and infrastructure, all of which lead to destruction of all that Takashi has known.And yet…“Even if there's nothing here today, there might be something tomorrow.”[“Don’t look, Natsume-kun,” Matoba says with a foreign gentleness. “Don’t look.” All the stress on his face smooths out and his mouth curves into a lovely smile. His lone eye even crinkles. He looks more alive than he did before when picking up Takashi.“Our little countryside towns were never meant for mass body disposal. Especially with a pandemic like this.”]





	destruction

**Author's Note:**

> Fic by tunnelOFdawn; art by OHai_Here. It's been a pleasure to work with you! The art is absolutely perfect! (Art embedded at end of fic.)

**Part I: Architecture**

As the sun rises, the whole world is silent—an indrawn breath (a suspension of life) until the sun crests over the horizon. The rosy fingers of dawn paint the firmament in soft hues and claw away dusky clouds from the sun. The sun shines bright as life continues in that liminal space between rest and activity. It illuminates a scene outside a cozy home echoed by other homes and families.

"Takashi-kun!" Touko calls out as she shivers in the morning cold. "Don't forget your lunch!" Obligingly, she holds out a bento wrapped in light blue cloth. The morning sun leaves her outline soft as her face is cast half in shadow and half in sunlight. The dappled light that filters through the trees ripples on her face.

Takashi turns around and the bag at his hip bounces at the movement. A soft smile barely curves his mouth as he walks back to Touko. He ducks his head at the irrepressible urge to smile. Sunshine limns him in gold—sunlit hair and amber eyes. A breeze gently plays with his hair and carries the scent of the earth in full bloom. As leafy branches wave in the wind, so do the delicate flowers dotting the front garden.

"Thank you, Touko-san," Takashi says as he places the bento in his bag.

Touko smiles. Her hand reaches out.

Takashi does not duck away from the quick, careful stroke of his hair. Bravery is to be known and to be loved. Takashi no longer cringes from her hands, only barely calloused from gardening.

Nyanko-sensei waddles out from a nearby bush with leaves and twigs snarled in his fur. A faint redolent smell emanates from him. Under Touko's cooing, he twines (shoves) affectionately around Takashi's legs.

"Even Nyankichi-kun wants you to have a good day!" Touko exclaims. Her hands rest against her cheeks, framing her adoring expression.

Takashi smiles before he begins to stumble from the force of Nyanko-sensei's affection. Bending down, he picks at leaves and twigs before giving up on his wayward bodyguard. The remnants of Nyanko-sensei's night out litter the earth.

"You better behave," Takashi mutters to the fat cat. His hand sinks into an excess of fur as he pets the cat.

The fat cat yowls, bucking indignantly under Takashi's hand.

Takashi stands back up and readjusts the fit of his bag.

Goodbyes are exchanged and Takashi sets off on his way to school.

Nyanko-sensei circles around Touko's legs.

"Oh, Takashi-kun!" Touko calls out to his retreating back. "Don't forget that Shigeru-san and I are going out on a day trip!"

Takashi waves a hand in acquiescence as he spares one final glance backwards. Today is Touko-san's and Shigeru-san's marriage anniversary, or so they had told him last night at dinner. There had been a remarkably dreamy look in Touko's eyes as she had explained their plans for the next day. It was a sweet sight to witness and Takashi had wished them well on their impending trip. A short outing to another town famed for their hot springs—what was there to gainsay?

Thoughts of the day trip dissipate upon the sight of the school building looming high. Upon arrival to school, Takashi continues his morning routine. He heads to his assigned locker and switches out his shoes for white school-regulation slippers. He then proceeds to the classroom with Kitamoto and Nishimura. Their idle chatter is a soothing accompaniment.

The day progresses with a normality that Takashi savors. He even manages to answer a math question on the board when called upon by their teacher. There is no exhaustion to slow him down since yōkai activity has declined to a standstill in the past few weeks. The peaceful lull is heavy with foreboding but Takashi knows better than to allow the world pass him by in anticipation of awful events to come.

Lunch arrives and the classroom leaps to life in a flurry of chatter as bentos are opened. Takashi runs a hand across soft blue cloth before unwrapping his bento. The hems of the cloth are minutely uneven, a handsewn marker. The color matches his socks, he knows.

"Oi, Natsume, what are you smiling for?" Nishimura asks loudly.

Takashi flushes lightly under the combined attention from Nishmura, Kitamoto, and Tanuma.

"Nothing," Takashi says. He avoids their gazes.

Despairingly, Kitamoto sighs out, "Nishimura!"

As Nishimura defends himself from Kitamoto, Tanuma huffs a soft laugh as he looks at Takashi.

Rather than offering a response, Takashi deigns to start eating. The light bickering of Nishimura and Kitamoto offers a comforting background noise. Even the sounds of other people eating are not annoying at all, but rather a comfort. The sounds tell him that he is not alone—that he too has his own melody in this symphony of life. No longer is he the discordant instrument out of tune. Yet, the current state does not preclude other instruments going out of tune.

There is a buzzing in the air—

Suddenly, a _wail_. Earsplitting sirens screech near their ears. The loudspeakers situated in the school and around town all go off in alarms of warning. A voice then dominates the sirens.

"Emergency. A biological threat has been identified. Shelter in place. Lock doors and windows. Await further instructions," the voice says with an artificial calmness. The warning repeats for a few loops, underscored by the sirens.

Hushed whispering ensues as students and teachers begin the procedure to shelter in place. Yet, all Takashi can hear is the sound of his heart beating in a frantic tattoo. His hair raises on the back of his neck as his breathing speeds up. There is something with a vice grip on his heart. There is a heaviness in the air that is more than the panic consuming his schoolmates. The heaviness stretches thin and _pops_.

Takashi hears an urgent croaking from the ground. A small frog hops urgently near his legs when he peers down.

"Natsume-dono," the frog says in Misuzu's voice, an incongruent deepness, "a yōkai has been released. Do not seek it out. It is death for all."

Nobody but Takashi hears the voice.

The frog disappears.

Time crawls to a standstill as Takashi and his classmates stay in the classroom. Even the urgent whispering has quieted to an uneasy silence. They can hear each tick and each tock of the clock hung up on the wall. The slow revolution of the minute hand occurs with no fanfare. The identified biological threat has yet to be elaborated upon or even experienced. They huddle in their seats with the bliss and agony of ignorance.

The silence breaks.

A thud against a window resounds with a meaty thwack.

They all look. An enterprising student pulls back the curtains even as their teacher begins to settle in for a long scolding.

There is a human outside. A man of average stature with nondescript dark hair. He has no eyes, Takashi's classmates exclaim in horror. They cringe back from the window. Those empty, gaping sockets inspire fear in them—a primal repulsion in the same way the body warns of danger upon witnessing a predator or rotten food squirming with maggots.

"He has no eyes!" a student exclaims.

Takashi continues to look. The man has eyes with bloodshot sclera and light brown irises. They look dull under a thin film of _something _that unsettles Takashi.

"He's dead!" Nishimura suddenly exclaims.

The man outside the window is indeed dead, Takashi observes with a faint horror. There is blood coloring pale skin red—dried crimson trails from a head wound. Upon further examination, bone gleams white on the back of the man's head. His skull is cracked. A halo of brain matter and the organic shine of viscera define his skull.

The man slaps a hand against the window as he headbutts the window. His mouth is wide open. The twitching of his tongue is visible, almost as if he is attempting to speak. There is nothing to be heard but a low groan.

"Stay away from the windows," their teacher, Mikohara-sensei, commands. "Do _not _open the curtains again!" He yanks at the curtains but fumbles the movement when he makes eye contact with the man outside.

"I can hear him breathe," Takashi whispers. Harsh and heavy pants fill his ears as his eyes fix on the bloated body clawing at the window. The man's (if he could even be called that) nails have yet to fall out and they are dark with liquid that Takashi dares not ponder the origin of.

A classmate turns to face Takashi. His brow furrows as if internally repeating Takashi's words. "But, Natsume," he says, slowly, "zombies don't breathe. _That _thing is not breathing."

"Zombies?" Takashi repeats.

Tanuma rests his hand on Takashi's shoulder, as if to lead him away from the window. Listlessly, Takashi obeys but his eyes never waver from the man at the window.

"Someone's watched too many American movies," Tanuma says. He smiles tightly.

"It's a zombie!" the boy insists.

Conversation breaks out as people stare at the window, unable to look away. They all begin to audibly wonder if zombies do indeed classify as a biological threat. Their teacher tries to regain control of the classroom but fear has a way of disregarding all rules. Their chatter accompanies the thudding against the window. They cannot conceive of the glass failing under such paltry strength. What strength do the undead have?

All the while, Takashi continues to stare as Tanuma stands beside him.

"If they're zombies, then they're not human anymore, Natsume," Tanuma consoles.

"That's the problem," Takashi murmurs, "they still _are_." He watches a soul in soundless scream—as trapped as they are. The whole world is imprisoned.

Finally, their teacher closes the curtains.

* * *

The world continues to revolve around the sun as the zombies continue to walk across the earth. They begin to gather outside Takashi's school, drawn in by _something_ that Takashi does not know and does not want to speculate over for fear of the answer. There is an element of the miraculous to the way the windows hold up against the onslaught.

The zombies weakly tap at their windows in a dissonant rhythm. The tapping is all that Takashi can hear. _Tap, tap_ and the pace of Takashi's heart stutters in rhythm. There is only the tapping to hear—everybody in the classroom quiet except for the rasp of panicky breaths. There is no order to the sounds assaulting their ears.

Takashi's fists clench.

The tapping pauses for a moment so brief that Takashi relegates it to imagination.

Takashi's fists unclench.

Takashi makes a concerted effort to control his breathing. One deep breath in, one deep breath out. A 1-2 rhythm. He stills his fingers from tapping at the floor. Seated against the wall farthest from the windows, Takashi stares doggedly at the tiles as he breathes in and out. White and clean, so sterile.

It is the anticipation that gets Takashi. It is the fear that this anticipation spikes. He cannot anticipate what else the zombies will do, if a deviation from their constant tapping occurs. These zombies are not strong (not right now, at least). The one advantage to a small, rural area like theirs is a lack of humans to fuel the zombie situation. It is only the first day. There are only so many to convert in a day.

Applying logic to the situation is Takashi's only relief. Zombies—how unnatural. Is this a dream? Is this a nightmare? Yet, not all things can be the work of yōkai.

Maybe Misuzu's warning was for something else entirely. Maybe the term zombies is a misnomer. The people out there are certainly sick from the way they function despite their wounds. Maybe those are not fatal wounds that Takashi and the others had espied from the windows. Maybe these people are still alive. Maybe this is some sort of ailment akin to rabies—aggressiveness, excessive movements, muscle spasms could explain the behavior of the people congregating outside. Maybe...

There are a lot of possibilities to explore…

"Hey, Natsume," Tanuma murmurs as he nudges Takashi.

"...What?" Takashi asks eventually.

"The tapping is slowing down. Maybe the police are out there."

"The police?...I don't think so. I don't think they have the equipment for stuff like this."

"I guess. It's always been a quiet town."

"Yeah."

Takashi returns to staring at the tiles. Breathe in, breathe out. 1-2. Every breath released deflates him like a balloon under high pressure. He is ready to fly unmoored. He is a wisp of cloud crossing the sky. He is nothing.

He is nothing until sunset hits. The sun goes down and so do the zombies. The meaty thwacks of flesh against ground echo in their ears. They fall heavy and it is this falling that incites chatter beyond the low-level whispering of prior.

"Sensei, sensei, can we open the curtains?" a student asks boldly.

Their teacher gives a resounding rejection.

No matter. The loudspeakers start blaring again.

"Attention. Evacuate to the district bunker located at—," a voice mechanically reads out. It loops for a few times, providing an accompaniment to the sudden flurry of movement that erupts in the classroom.

Takashi stands up. Numbly, he slings on his bookbag. His hands neither fumble nor shake.

He begins to wish that these zombies are yōkai.

* * *

In place of the sun, the moon hangs heavy and full. The swollen full moon casts light across the school grounds and engenders the formation of shadows. In every shadow, Takashi finds nothing. In the light, Takashi finds the dim outlines of bodies on the ground. They are still with the dark shadow of blood upon them.

Takashi and his schoolmates avoid the bodies littering the ground. They stare at the ground as they follow their teacher. They join in with the other lines of classes. Students murmur to each other with that fearful excitement adrenaline incites in a person during a catastrophe. Mikohara-sensei confers with the other teachers and the office staff.

There are buses near the school exit and students start to board. It is like a field trip, except instead of waking up early, they are boarding late. (Also, well, most field trips do _not _involve death.) Takashi stands behind Tanuma in line, who sends him worried looks backwards. He wants to tell Tanuma to stop worrying about him but his tongue twists and stumbles over the words. He opts to avoid eye contact.

"Natsume-kun!" a voice calls out.

Takashi raises his head in the direction of the voice. He watches a long-fingered hand wave in the air. It is a signal Takashi is loathe to answer because he recognizes the owner of the hand. It is Matoba in a firmly pressed and tailored suit. The fit of his trousers elongate his legs. He looks tall and spindly—a figure outlined in black against the backdrop of the moonlight. His wan skin is drawn tight with tension, as if bone is ready to burst through. His dark brown eye shines with a fervid glint. Matoba Seiji has the presence of a yōkai.

Matoba approaches Takashi's teacher.

"You're not Natsume's guardian," Mikohara-sensei says.

"Of course not. I'm a family friend. His guardians sent me to pick him up," Matoba explains. He smiles, a quick twitch of his mouth.

Mikohara-sensei frowns. He beckons Takashi over with a wave of his hand and Takashi obliges with slow, halting steps. "Is he a family friend?" Mikohara-sensei asks. He continues to look at Takashi with a pensive expression.

Takashi glances at Matoba in time to see him mouth "yōkai" with a simultaneous glance cast towards a fallen body. He wants to close his eyes but avoiding reality has never served him well. Pretending is not useful—not anymore.

"Yes," Takashi confirms.

Mikohara-sensei continues to look suspicious. "I don't see why it's necessary to pick him up when we're all going to the same place. We've already informed what parents and guardians we could by phone call."

A twitchy smile returns to Matoba's face. "I understand protocol," Matoba says, "but his parents have authorized me to take him to a more, hmm, private shelter. He'll have a touching reunion, I'm sure."

Mikohara-sensei evaluates Matoba with a disparaging look, examining his clothing and the pristine luxury sedan idling nearby. "Well...I suppose they never did answer," Mikohara-sensei concedes.

"It's fine, Mikohara-sensei," Takashi says. He appreciates the worry but there is a franticness to Matoba's features that concerns even him. Nevermind the fact that Matoba had mouthed "yōkai" with a direct look to one of the supposed "zombies". With Takashi's luck, sticking around could attract more of those yōkai-adjacent zombies.

With a visible hesitation, Mikohara-sensei nods in acquiescence. He departs back to his cluster of students, already beginning to board the bus.

"Natsume!" Takashi hears. He twists his head in the direction of the voice.

Audibly, Mikohara-sensei begins to hush the owner of the voice. It is Tanuma, loyal and fretful, who desperately makes eye contact with Takashi. Takashi bites at his lip before opening his mouth. "Tanuma! Don't worry! I'm going with a...family friend!" Takashi shouts.

Tanuma's brow furrows but he has no chance to reply when their teacher unceremoniously ushers him into the bus. Takashi lifts a hand for a wave and quickly drops it. Tanuma is out of sight.

"Well, that was heartwarming," Matoba says.

The corner of Takashi's mouth raises on reflex in a sneer. Matoba has this special ability to irritate people—it's called being an...He bites back the uncharitable reply festering in him. The zombie situation leaves him burning and twitchy.

Surprisingly, Matoba lets out a sigh. It ill suits his usual composure. He does not look pristine and proud like a peacock mantling. His feathers are ruffled and his bird bones are too heavy. Anything but composed, Matoba is on the edge of an unraveling—clipped wings.

"Just...get in the car. I'll update you inside," Matoba says. He flicks a glance at the buses and the dwindling congregation of students and teachers.

The weariness in Matoba's voice makes Takashi feel a twinge of pity. He cannot help his sympathetic heart. In truth, Matoba worries him. It must be more than the zombie situation that unsettles Matoba, a man of plans and pragmatism.

Silently, Takashi accompanies Matoba into the car. They slide into the backseats using opposite doors. A partition separates them from an unseen driver.

When Takashi situates himself in his seat, unhooking his bag from around him, he moves his legs a bit and he hears an unexpected yowl. He freezes for a moment before shaking it off. It has been so long since he has favored freeze over flight, long inured to paralysis by yōkai incidents. Takashi gazes downwards and meets a slit-eyed gaze. It is Nyanko-sensei who yowls up a storm beneath his feet.

"Idiot!" Nyanko-sensei screeches. "Me! Your poor bodyguard! This is abuse! Abuse!"

Laughter leaves Takashi's mouth. It cuts through the tense silence with all the grace of a sword, freshly sharpened and slicing through flesh. When Takashi regains his bearings, he scoops up Nyanko-sensei with a pleased exclamation. He would never admit it but he cuddles his sensei close. Sensei is a soft, heavy weight in his arms. The burn of his muscles is familiar.

"Sensei! You're here!" Takashi says dumbly.

"Not for lack of effort otherwise," Matoba says.

"Hmph! Of course, I am! It's all that Matoba's brat fault anyways!" Nyanko-sensei says.

"What," Takashi says slowly, "do you mean by that?"

Matoba smoothly cuts in, "Those particular details are not necessary at this time." He levels a stern look at the cat yōkai in Takashi's arms.

A vague impetus to protect Nyanko-sensei overcomes him and he tightens his grip. Nyanko-sensei squirms in his arms, distracted away from Matoba. He grumbles inarticulately.

"Matoba-san, what's happening?" Takashi asks.

"I'm sure you heard the warnings earlier. A biological threat, they said. It's a pandemic, Natsume," Matoba says plainly.

"Pandemic?" Takashi repeats. "Is it...a zombie pandemic?" He wants the answer to be negative but all he receives is a positive nod in return.

"From what I've gathered, it's infectious through body fluids. And I suppose we also know that as the sun sets, so does the activity decrease. I'm sure you saw the bodies outside," Matoba explains.

Takashi is surprised that Nyanko-sensei has yet to interrupt considering his prior behavior. Yet, even Nyanko-sensei is transfixed by the words Matoba spews. It seems that despite their ride over together, conversation had been the last thing on their minds. This does not solve the mystery of why sensei accompanied Matoba but Takashi is far more interested in what information Matoba can offer. After all, he was not stuck in a school's lockdown.

"But what do yōkai have—" Takashi begins. He is cut off by the shaking of the car and the dull sound of the tires making impact. He hears a meaty thwack and his fingers dig into sensei's fur. His heart races and his skin raises.

The impact repeats and the car judders its way along. Takashi does not want to peer out of the window. He stares blankly at Matoba. Matoba is an...adult. Matoba-san is an experienced exorcist. Takashi has never had the habit of relying on adults but this entire situation deviates from his norm. He has seen yōkai die but they do not linger after death. They have no corporeal forms to stumble over. They dissolve in pretty lights like fireflies at dusk. They float away, transient. Yōkai do not linger.

"Don't look, Natsume-kun," Matoba says with a foreign gentleness. "Don't look." All the stress on his face smooths out and his mouth curves into a lovely smile. His lone eye even crinkles. He looks more alive than he did before when picking up Takashi.

"Our little countryside towns were never meant for mass body disposal. Especially with a _pandemic _like this."

Takashi buries his face in Nyanko-sensei's fur.

Nyanko-sensei does not protest.

The car continues to shake and thuds continue to resound bonedeep.

* * *

The roads turn smooth once they turn into winding dirt roads. The amount of turns the car takes is dizzying for Takashi. They go through a rough road in the midst of the forest. Monolithic trees reach out with hungry branches and twitchy leaves. Their branches embrace high up in the sky to form a canopy that moonlight cannot penetrate. What little light there is scatters as it breaks through the rare few gaps in the canopy.

Nocturnal birds give off hoots and chirps as the car speeds through. Takashi stares out of the window and into nature. The forest is empty of humans—blessedly so. The only sounds he can hear are of Matoba's even, measured breaths and of the nocturnal fauna stirring in the undergrowth and in the trees. Nyanko-sensei is quiet, his large eyes glinting in a rare show of pensive thought. He does not blink. He has not blinked ever since the..._thudding_.

Takashi wets his dry lips before flicking a glance at Matoba. In return, he gets a lazy glance from the man who lolls his neck over with ease. A brow arches.

"Matoba-san," Takashi begins, clinging to formality in chaos, "how much longer until we get there?"

Matoba hums. He looks out the window for a quick second. "A few minutes," he says. He turns away in disinterest.

"Sensei," Takashi murmurs. He does not know what else to say to his quiet companion.

Nyanko-sensei blinks. "Let's...let's just get you settled in before we talk anymore, kid," he says clumsily. He licks at his paw.

The world is crumbling in Takashi's hands and he cannot piece it back together. A world in catastrophe, a stressed Matoba, and a quiet Madara do little to reassure Takashi. Even the foundation beneath everything is unstable, he knows for certain.

The car brakes, coming to a smooth stop. Takashi takes in a deep breath and loosens his grip around Nyanko-sensei. The ride through the forest has calmed his heartbeat down to an acceptable level. He can no longer let himself be paralyzed by fear. Misuzu's warning replays in his head. The voice resounds through him with the same intensity of the initial delivery. Takashi does not want to return to his childish life of cowardice. To confront situations head-on is a lesson he has learned in his recent years and it would be a disservice to all that he has done to cower away from the current situation.

Takashi steps out of the car with Nyanko-sensei in tow, toddling behind. The Matoba manor is a familiar sight. The traditional Japanese architecture sets it low to the ground. There are plants climbing the whitewashed exterior that adds to an air of abandonment. The newest addition to the estate is a concrete wall enclosing the area. Black-inked characters crawl along the wall. Takashi can barely identify a character before it twists in upon itself to create another character and so on and so forth.

The brutalist architecture of the exterior conflicts with the traditional architecture of the interior. There is only one gated entrance wide enough for a car to pass through. It must have cost the Matoba clan a fortune to implement such uncommon measures in a rural area. Then again, Takashi had never gotten the impression that the Matoba coffers were shallow.

Pausing outside, Takashi turns to face Matoba. "When did you add the walls?" Takashi asks.

"A month ago," Matoba says.

He walks into the house.

* * *

The guest room is light and airy with shōji walls and tatami flooring. A futon, fresh with the scent of detergent, rests on the floor. A low table nearby is made out of polished dark wood with stiff, unbroken cushions accompanying it. Inky characters creep across the only window. The guest room is not exactly new but it has an air of pristine abandonment, as if nobody has ever come in except to clean.

The guest room is anything but home.

Takashi slumps to the ground as Nyanko-sensei noses him worriedly.

"Oi, Natsume!" Nyanko-sensei says as he transitions into headbutting Takashi's knees.

Furiously, Takashi swipes at the cat before flinging an arm across his eyes. His breath hitches; he grows warm; and his eyes burn. Takashi firms his quivering mouth. His teeth dig in and blood blooms in his mouth. He tongues at the new wound, for lack of anything else to do. It is a distraction. The pain serves a greater purpose. The pain is good.

"This...this is no time to cry!" Nyanko-sensei blusters. "C'mon, you idiot! Stop it! Stop crying!"

The pain is _not _good.

An audible sob escapes Takashi.

"I want Touko-san. I want Shigeru-san," he chokes out. The formality of it all continues to be ingrained even as he breaks down. He cannot help it.

"W-what...if they're dead?" Takashi continues. He had spent the entire day burying the thought but now, late at night, the thought resurfaces. He could only do so much to ignore the reality of the situation.

"Natsume, there's no point in jumping to conclusions," Nyanko-sensei says.

Takashi takes a deep, shuddering breath. The slide of mucus down his throat makes him swallow convulsively. He dries tear tracks with the edges of his sleeves. His skin is tacky. Crying never solves anything, he knows. This is the sort of behavior he would exhibit as a kid when every insult and every assault mattered before becoming normal. The regression irks him.

"They're on a day trip," Natsume blankly says, "it's their anniversary. I told them I didn't mind."

"Look, we don't know what's going on in other towns. Maybe it's just this town!"

"...Maybe."

For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room are Takashi's breathing and Nyanko-sensei's purring. Takashi had never truly thought of sensei as a cat. The purring slows down Takashi's heart as he rhythmically pets his sensei. He can understand of allure of Nyanko-sensei to Taki. Sensei is soft and squishy. He is a warm weight on his lap.

The panic recedes as slumber takes root.

* * *

Sunrise dawns bright, filtering through the windows. Takashi wakes up with a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. His mouth is dry and his eyes are swollen. A rumble echoes in the room, courtesy of his stomach. He never had dinner. Most likely, Touko-san left food in the fridge before leaving. He will never eat it now before it spoils.

Nyanko-sensei is not in the room. The shōji door is slid slightly ajar. The yōkai is probably snooping around the estate. It is not the safest action to take, considering the brute force exorcism the clan relies on, but Nyanko-sensei is old enough to know better and decide whether or not the risk is worth it. He only hopes nobody injures him again.

Sliding out of the futon, Takashi starts stretching. He winces at the crack of stiff joints. He had been tossing and turning the whole night. Even exhaustion could not suppress him. He runs a hand through his hair, tousling it even further. He looks down at his wrinkled school uniform. The skin underneath is both sweaty and oily in certain places.

The low table nearby has a fresh set of casual clothing—a t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and mortifyingly enough, underwear. At least the sizing is off, Takashi consoles himself. It makes the situation a bit less creepy. Though really, what else could he expect from Matoba?

Clothing in hand, Takashi decides he needs a shower. He pads out of the guest room in guest slippers. They smack and slide quietly against the tatami flooring. He peeks into unoccupied rooms in an effort to find the bathroom. Eventually, he stumbles upon one. After a bit of exploration, he finds spare toiletries and begins the process of cleaning himself up.

After a quick shower and no bath, Takashi clothes himself and departs. The halls are winding and leave him with no sense of direction. It is almost like one of those archetypal stories with a hero and a labyrinth. The life of a hero, Takashi muses, is no path one would willingly take, if well-informed.

Takashi's path in the house leads him around and around. There are more ofuda hung up than normal, or at least from what he had seen last time in the house. There are also more yōkai travelling around the house. They are all busy and harried-looking, which is a severe indicator of disrest, considering the cool, disaffected nature of yōkai. Matoba's shiki, in particular, carry stacks of ofuda in their shadowy arms.

Eventually, one of Matoba's shiki, the only one with empty arms, motions Takashi to follow. He ends up in a formal reception room. There is even a decorative alcove boasting calligraphic scrolls, an arrangement of flowers, and expensive porcelain. A low table in the center of the room is where Matoba Seiji resides primly on a cushion. He wears his characteristic dark kimono—the very picture of a historical noble playing host. There is a teapot and teacups with grey curls of steam wafting upwards. There are a few platters of food accompanying the tea.

Inelegantly, Takashi collapses onto a cushion, just to make Matoba wrinkle his nose and grimace. Infuriatingly, Matoba looks as elegant as ever. The disarray of yesterday has dissipated in favor of his usual composure. It is vaguely comforting when Takashi ponders further but really, he would rather not. Matoba is no Natori, a familiar ally.

"I hope you slept well," Matoba says mildly. His eyes flick down Takashi's form. He smiles. With smooth, practiced motions, he pours Takashi a cup of tea.

Takashi bites back instinctive impudence and errs for politeness. The time for answers is _now_. "Very well," Takashi says. His glass eyes work in his favor as his mouth curves emptily.

The shōji door slides open abruptly. Takashi and Matoba both tense up and look, only to find Nyanko-sensei waddling in. There is a smug gait to his waddle. He says nothing even as he plops into Takashi's lap for better access to the food.

Matoba eyes Nyanko-sensei. "Hmm, let's leave further discussion for after breakfast," he says.

As if appetite will be lost if all is revealed now. Takashi knows when to not press on. It goes against every stubborn fiber of his body but Takashi is not customarily hot-headed and impulsive. He has outgrown impulse. Nobody can chase him away so easily as they had in his youth. He eats; he drinks.

"Oi, gimme _this_," Nyanko-sensei periodically commands. Takashi obliges while Matoba does his best to ignore the yōkai.

Finally, breakfast ends and Takashi sits primly with a straight back. Yet, before he can open his mouth, Nyanko-sensei opens his own.

"I was right!" Nyanko-sensei proclaims. "I knew you were up to no good, you exorcist brat!" His voice deepens before resettling into his usual creaky old man voice. He is on the verge of transforming, Takashi knows. Matoba can clearly feel the heavy air around sensei since his mouth firms down from its usual smile.

"Please," Matoba says, "enlighten me."

"The zombie pandemic is _your _fault!" Nyanko-sensei exclaims. He does enjoy his showmanship—a penchant for the dramatic.

Matoba relaxes. "My, if you had waited long enough, I would have explained myself," he tuts.

Takashi speaks up. "Misuzu told me a yōkai had been released."

"_Natsume-dono," the frog says in Misuzu's voice in an incongruent deepness, "a yōkai has been released. Do not seek it out. It is death for all."_

Now, it is Nyanko-sensei who tenses up. His smugness transmutes to something darker. "You must have been the last being he was ever in contact with then," Nyanko-sensei says.

"What do you mean?" Takashi asks.

Matoba observes them without nary a word to surface.

"Go ahead and ask Matoba. Misuzu came here, according to what I've heard. And he hasn't been seen since," Nyanko-sensei says. A growly undercurrent unsettles Takashi.

"Matoba-san," Takashi begins, only to be cut off.

"I tire of this," Matoba abruptly says. "I will not have uninformed accusations upon my clan."

"Hmph," Nyanko-sensei vocalizes, "like it's any better that you destroyed things by accident!"

"Accident?" Takashi asks, latching onto the information with all the desperation of a tick to a human.

"I've been talking to the other yōkai in the forest and they're saying it's the fault of the Matoba," Nyanko-sensei accuses. "They're saying Misuzu warned the exorcists. They didn't listen. And it makes sense. I knew I felt Misuzu here. His power..."

"A branch family member, nothing more," Matoba says. "He didn't do anything, really. Just a catalyst for the inevitable."

"The inevitable?" Takashi says.

"The seals were failing. He didn't know how to fix them. He thought it wouldn't matter. Just some small yōkai sealed away. He didn't listen to your...friend." Matoba pauses with a chilly smile. "He was wrong, of course. But you must understand, Natsume, that it was sealed for so long that we had forgotten what we had sealed. The perils of human memory, of human record."

"And do you know now what was sealed?"

"Death."

* * *

**Interlude**

"I wonder—how are your guardians?"

"I don't know. They went on a day trip. They…probably left contact info at home."

"Well, I don't recommend going home. Or sending out your pet."

"Why not?"

"You're a beacon, Natsume. Didn't you notice? Your school had the greatest concentration of…zombies. They're very hungry, you know."

"…Hungry for what?"

"Isn't it obvious? Spiritual energy. You're one of the greatest feasts they'll find."

* * *

**Part II: Infrastructure**

Crackly voices transmit over the radio with background static obfuscating words. It is all the roughness and raspiness of sandpaper rubbing away coarse wood. Matoba fiddles with the radio, twisting and turning knobs, until the voice quality clears enough to be understandable. He removes his hand and returns to his cushion at the low table.

Takashi looks away from Matoba and into the eyes of Nyanko-sensei. Nyanko-sensei grooms himself fastidiously, exhibiting more self-grooming behavior since the outbreak. It has only been two weeks and yet, new habits begin to form and entrench themselves.

"We repeat: do not breach the quarantines. Stay within your assigned shelter during daylight. The barricades are for everyone's safety and to minimize transmittance of the Walking Sickness. Please continue to take precautions as advised by the Ministry of Health, Labor, and Welfare. The NIID recommend the following...We repeat: do not breach the quarantines…" a man rasps out on the radio.

_Walking Sickness. _A clinical, scientific name for a supernatural affliction. In every Walker (a clinical term substituting for "zombies"), a darkness battles the human soul. For the sightless, the loss of the battle manifests in gaping eye sockets. Yet, for those with the sight, the eyes of a Walker is all too human and alive. These Walkers—they walk all day in search of sustenance. They feed off of spiritual energy. It sustains them and allows the darkness to infect more hosts. It is death for all, as Misuzu had warned.

"Sensei, they're calling it a sickness—the Walking Sickness, as if it's…it's some sort of _virus_," Takashi chokes out. If only it _were_ a virus. But it isn't and nobody but him, or at least people with the sight, knows. They can't cure it with medicine. It won't help. Nothing the sightless can do will help.

"You humans do love your explanations," Madara says. He grooms a paw intently. It is bloody.

"It is admirable the way that the government is doing its best," Matoba concurs. "They can control it, certainly, but they won't ever cure it."

"We...we need to do _more_," Takashi says. "Can't we open the estate to the towns?"

"You mean to your home," Matoba says coolly. "Isn't it enough that your little friends are safe and snug in the district shelter? Protected by Japan's finest?"

"It won't be enough, you know. We're...ground zero. Our area has the greatest amount of zombies," Takashi says. _Thanks to you,_ he wants to voice bitterly.

"And you still want to invite your little friends over?" Matoba scoffs. "Any exorcist...anyone with the sight is dangerous to the sightless. We're beacons, Natsume. It's not just a matter of bodily fluids with these zombies."

"But we can still fight them better than the sightless! The military can't even dispose of the bodies without risk of infection, even with their suits."

"And if we invite them, we increase their risk."

"Not...not if we protect them properly!"

"Natsume, we can't protect them."

"We can! Isn't your whole clan good at those talismans? We could...we could make protective talismans for them."

"Haven't you realized, Natsume? They've started to eat the talismans. They've started to eat the protections on the walls. What do you think my clan has been doing everyday? What do you think I've been doing everyday?

"Even if we invite the sightless here, they aren't any safer here than in their shelters. Nobody's safe anywhere.

"You're a kid, Natsume, a sweet kid, I'm sure, but why don't you leave things to the adults?"

"Why won't you let me help then?!"

A telephone rings and the world quietens.

Takashi lets out a tense huff of air.

Matoba stands up, releasing the tight grip that he has on the table, and heads for the telephone.

"Mato—," Matoba begins before cutting himself off. His brow furrows.

"Shuu—Natori?

"Where are you?

"No...don't wait for moonrise. There's more than zombies out there now. You can handle dead humans but you won't be able to handle the yōkai that have been congregating recently. As long as you get to the forest, you'll have enough time to avoid them.

"We'll meet you there and clear the way. You just need to survive until we meet."

Matoba hangs up the phone with a click. His hand does not let go of the receiver for a long moment.

Takashi continues to watch. He is good at that—always has been.

Nyanko-sensei's ears are pricked high. His slit eyes dilate. "Was that sparkle boy that I just heard?" he purrs.

Matoba turns to face them, skin spread thin over his fine-boned features.

"It seems that the Mikoshiba clan has fallen," Matoba says, "and Natori will be joining us soon."

"Mikoshiba clan?" Takashi says. The name is vaguely familiar from the few exorcist gatherings he has attended.

"Yes, they were mostly known for their generational yōkai contracts. Very powerful and very loyal. No wonderful their enclave fell first," Matoba says calmly.

"A beacon…Is Natori fine then?" Takashi questions. He worries at his lip.

"Hmph, sounded tired," Nyanko-sensei interposes.

"I suppose we'll see when he arrives," Matoba says.

"When?" Takashi says.

"He'll likely arrive in the forest in three days."

"If you're going to meet him, then I'm coming."

"Fine. It'll be a good learning opportunity for you. Perhaps you'll learn the meaning of gratefulness afterwards."

"...Maybe."

* * *

Daylight illuminates the grotesque features of the zombies in stark relief. They claw at the concrete walls with feeble human nails. They claw until their nails fall off and reveal delicate pink nailbeds. They claw until they wear their fingers down to the muscle. Then bone begins to peek through.

Takashi watches the zombies through the gated entrance. They paw through the slats and wail inarticulately when the seals of protection flare. A high, lonesome wail of bells ringing accompanies the flare of the seals. Ancient bells ring again and again.

The zombies continue to flinch back but they always return. Takashi understands why the estate never sleeps. The seals need to be patched up in the daytime and overhauled entirely at night. It is like plugging a leaky ship in the middle of the ocean, all alone and isolated. Eventually, the ship becomes an island.

"Can't you do anything, sensei?" Takashi asks the yōkai in his arms.

Sensei offers a creaky old man sigh. "Idiot! They feed off of energy. Don't forget that I'm a great and powerful yōkai!" he answers. "How do you think they got Misuzu? They probably sucked him dry and this was only right after the calamity got unsealed!" His voice is serious, none of the levity and playfulness that had endeared him to Takashi and irritated Takashi by turns.

Takashi returns his gaze to the zombies. He meets their gazes. They are looking at him and sensei. How wretchedly hungry they look and yet...they have such sad eyes. Some part of them remembers _before_, or horrifyingly enough, still exists under the yoke of darkness.

"I don't think you can come with us, sensei," Takashi says.

"Ha! Do you think I'm your bodyguard? Of course, I'm not coming! I'm too powerful to hang out with the likes of you!" Nyanko-sensei blusters. "Weak humans!"

Nobody likes being left behind, Takashi knows. It must grate at Nyanko-sensei to escort Takashi to the gates. He had always proclaimed himself a bodyguard and revelled in fighting other yōkai. Smug and fat, he would then return to Takashi's arm in triumph at another yōkai bested. Sensei won't admit it, but he enjoys being a protector, or at least protecting Takashi.

Finally, Matoba Seiji appears before the pair. He is clad in traditional clothes with a full quiver hung over his back. In one hand, he holds his bow and in the other, he holds an ornate knife. Beautiful calligraphy crawls up the hilt, carved indelibly. He holds the hilt out to Takashi.

"A..knife?" Takashi says. His eyebrows raise and his forehead furrows. He has no experience with knives. His whole plan had just been using his spiritual energy to fight back against the zombies. If even yōkai fall to his punches, then surely, even humans imbued with the fragments of a yōkai would fall. He would just have to avoid their mouths, lest they suck him dry of energy (and move on to flesh and blood).

"Don't worry," Matoba says. "I don't expect you to seriously fight. You're more likely to hurt yourself with the knife. If any of them get too close and get their mouths on you, that's the best time to stab."

"...To stab?"

"Yes. Once they start sucking energy, you won't be able to rely on your power for your punches. You'll need to stab one of their eyes. Why else do you think the sightless can't see their eyes?"

Nyanko-sensei stirs in Takashi's arms. "Don't be putting stupid thoughts in the boy's head!" he declares. "You better be quick with those arrows of yours, exorcist!"

Takashi cannot help the small upward twitch of his lips. His face smooths over when he hears the seals flare again.

Matoba stares at the gated entrance, disregarding the fat cat yowling in his face. "If Natori stays to schedule, by the time we get halfway through the forest, he should be able to meet us," he says brusquely. He starts walking.

Takashi opens his arms and Nyanko-sensei leaps out. He turns to walk away but stumbles at a sudden headbut to his legs.

"If you don't come back quick enough, I'll go looking for you," Nyanko-sensei warns.

"Sensei, you ca—" Takashi begins.

"And if I end up stuck forever as a measly cat, you better treat me like an emperor! I'll bankrupt you!"

"...Of course."

Takashi hurries to rejoin Matoba. He does not spare a glance behind. He has no time to spare.

Matoba lays a palm against the wall near the gate. The seals flare bright with the hiss of sparks. Light flares and the zombies are repelled away for a few meters. It is enough room for both Matoba and Takashi to set off at a quick pace through the new path. The zombies lay on the ground, dazed like upturned turtles.

* * *

"We used to set traps in the forest," Matoba says quietly. He avoids a stray branch. "And then we realized that all it did was leave a nice trail to the house. They would have come eventually, anyways...we just...sped it up." On the last word, he begins to notch an arrow. He fixes his gaze on a cluster of trees to their left. He aims through the leaves. The bow draws back and releases. They hear the fleshy thwack of an arrow finding home. Then, a thud.

The dryness of Takashi's mouth inhibits speech.

Matoba hums. It is neither satisfaction nor dissatisfaction. "It never seems to get easier or harder to kill humans," he says. "Even if they're already dead…"

They continue walking.

There is no birdsong in the forest, long spooked by the zombies. Animals are far more sensitive to spiritual unbalance. Even before the yōkai had been released, the birds had begun to quieten and migrate.

All Takashi can hear is the sound of their breathing and their muffled footfalls. At times, he can hear the rustle of leaves and the crack of a twig as ungainly zombies navigate through the forest. They are beginning to gather again, drawn in by their spiritual energy. Yet, there can only be so many zombies gathered in their rural area. It is better to have more humans, hence their scheduled meeting with Natori.

The wind sighs through dry leaves as Takashi and Matoba reach a wide clearing. The trees are sparse but the leaves still rustle with an intensity similar to the dense areas. They do not stop rustling and Matoba straightens out of his lightfooted prowl. His bow raises and he nocks an arrow. His lone eye scans the area around them. They have no cover but neither do the zombies.

The clearing is a distinctive enough area to mark the halfway point of the forest. Natori would have to be blind to miss it. Takashi and Matoba would also have to be blind to miss the rotting corpse speeding towards them. It is only one zombie and Matoba stands before him with his bow raised. Before the distance between them shortens any further, Takashi hears an arrow hiss through air. A meaty thunk echoes as the arrow finds home in an eye.

The last remnants of energy propels the zombie forward even as it visibly falters. Matoba pivots on his heel for a kick to the zombie's chest. It falls down and Matoba continues to press his foot down on decaying flesh and bone.

Takashi peers around Matoba. He stares down at the zombie. What little hair remains is snarled with forest litter. What should have been bangs hang limply above eyes wide open. The disappearing remnants of mascara cling to long lashes.

"She has kind eyes," Takashi says.

Matoba looks dispassionately at the writhing, grunting form beneath his foot. "In this world," he says, "you need to remember that they don't have eyes anymore. They don't have a soul anymore. So, when they ask you, you tell them you _see _nothing."

There is a fox's smile on Matoba's face as he coaches Takashi.

He has never looked more alive.

Matoba reaches down to grasp the shaft of the arrow. Quick and easy, he pushes the arrowhead in deeper. The zombie stills and the eyeball bursts in its socket. The other eye, burst veins and dilated, pops of its own accord. The smell of the zombie turns more putrid. Takashi barely refrains from gagging, too aware of what a moment of vulnerability could cost him. Matoba weathers through the same impulse as his Adam's apple bobs.

"They're getting quicker," Takashi says. He casts a wary gaze around their surroundings. His hand tightens around the knife hilt. He can feel every etched mark.

Matoba straightens up from his stooped posture. "They've moved onto the cities. The yōkai is getting more powerful," he says. "Everywhere, a feast…"

Heavy feet drag against the forest floor and a shiver drags its way up Takashi's spine. "Matoba-san," Takashi begins.

Matoba hushes Takashi. Multiple pairs of feet thump heavy against the earth as someone breathes heavily. One set of feet has an asymmetric drag to it. The owner of the breathing enters their clearing, or rather runs into it. Blond hair shines in the sunlight and off wire frame glasses.

"Natori-san!" Takashi softly exclaims. He steps a foot forward, only for Matoba to make a cautioning noise.

On the other side of the clearing, Natori limps his way over at an accelerated pace. Other footsteps accompany him—there are zombies behind him. They are entangled in paper bonds. Their movement is hampered but they are not fully restrained. It seems even Natori's paper magic is not enough.

Takashi's observations have clearly been mirrored by Matoba. Arrows hiss through the air and target the zombies trailing behind Natori. Matoba begins to use seal-wrapped arrows. The danger of the spiritual energy's allure does not outweigh the current danger.

The zombies fall to the earth with each precise shot. The depletion of Matoba's quiver is worth Natori's presence by their side.

"Shuuichi-san," Matoba says mildly, "I see life has treated you well."

Takashi spares an aghast look at Matoba before refocusing his gaze on Natori's left leg—the leg that drags.

"We tried to exorcise them," Natori whispers hoarsely. "Not even cremation helps with the spread."

(He will later speak of bonfires built so high they touched the sky and smoked the forest—all to no avail. Choking on the ash lingering in his throat. It takes time and sufficient heat to turn bone to dust. The worst parts were watching flesh slough off bone and smelling that loathsome, tantalizing scent.)

"Your leg…" Takashi cannot help but say.

Natori swallows convulsively. "It was the first thing they went for."

"I—" Takashi begins.

Matoba cuts off further conversation as his clothing rustles in a whirl. How quickly the arrow leaves his bow…

"We need to return now," Matoba says. There is no urgency in his voice but the way he immediately nocks another arrow does not bode well.

Takashi immediately moves to Natori's side. He fumbles for a bit before managing to prod Natori into slinging his arm over Takashi's shoulders. Natori has made it this far with an injured leg but he is no longer alone.

They begin their returning trek. Matoba leads them with quick, assured steps. Natori and Takashi follow behind, staring at the depleted quiver over Matoba's back.

"Do you think you'll have enough arrows?" Takashi asks. The beginnings of an answer already known twists his stomach.

Matoba hums for a moment, soft and contemplative. "As long as we retrace our steps, the path will mostly be cleared. They haven't had enough time to gather again."

* * *

They return.

Takashi returns with a bloodied knife and a mouth pressed firm and tight.

Nyanko-sensei yowls, high and pitchy, at their return. Once the gate closes, he circles around Takashi's feet. His bristly head presses insistently into Takashi's calves.

"Sensei," Takashi murmurs.

A lazy wave of Matoba's hand summons his spindly shiki. They remove Natori's weight and lead him into the manor. Matoba follows behind, sparing no glance at the reunion behind him.

Nyanko-sensei does not care as he continues his physical onslaught. Takashi can catch the exact moment when Sensei's nose flares and his eyes widen.

"It's not mine," Takashi says preemptively. He looks at the knife still clutched tightly in his hand. His fingers do not want to loosen, despite his conscious efforts otherwise.

Nyanko-sensei's snout twitches into a snarl.

"It's...it's not Matoba-san's fault. He did the best he could," Takashi says.

Sensei harrumphs.

Entering the manor is like returning to a world displaced a few millimeters to the left, ever so slightly off. Takashi has lost something that he can never regain.

In front of Takashi, Nyanko-sensei plods along with a knife hilt in his mouth. He had wrested it out of Takashi's grasp before they left the courtyard. Nyanko-sensei even makes an effort to hum off-key, as if it is any other day and manju muffles his mouth. Takashi appreciates the effort but he too is displaced a few millimeters to the left. He is the weightless wisp of cloud drifting across the sky. Cotton wraps him thrice over and muffles the pounding of his heart.

Takashi would almost think himself deaf if he had not heard a pair of shuffling footsteps and the hiss of poured tea emanating from a nearby room. He turns his head to find the sliding door of the room not entirely closed. It is Matoba and Natori, he realizes. Nyanko-sensei lightly walks his way backwards to Takashi. He hopes the thicker paper of the walls and the lighting eliminate any hint of their forms.

Matoba sits properly near the low table, laden with tea and light snacks.

"Please sit down," Matoba says. His voice is smooth and low with no hint of emotions.

Natori does not sit down. He stands some distance away from the low table with his arms crossed against his chest. It must pain him to stand on his injured leg, but he persists.

Matoba does not sigh but he takes a measured breath. He stands up and takes the few steps needed to stand in front of Natori.

All Takashi can see is the alignment of their sides and half of their faces.

"Shuuichi—," Matoba begins. He reaches out with a hand that hovers above Natori's wrist. His mouth remains parted even as he never finishes his sentence.

"_Matoba_," Natori emphasizes, "we're not schoolboys anymore." He yanks his hand away.

The hand returns to rest by Matoba's side. It clenches into a fist before releasing, a snapped string. Any hint of sentiment (vulnerability) retreats behind impassivity. A smile curves his mouth but his lone eye remains unwrinkled.

"I see," Matoba says coolly. "I wonder why you came here if that is the way you see things."

Natori huffs. "It was the logical choice. Who else would be as paranoid as you? I'm sure you had this all planned out before things began to go wrong."

Matoba stares. A finger twitches. "You've grown smarter then," Matoba tests out.

"Yes."

"You're grown colder."

Silence.

Natori slides open the door.

"Eavesdropping is never a good idea, Natsume," Natori says. He smiles.

Takashi lingers awkwardly outside the entrance. He glances away from Natori's sharp gaze. Inevitably, his eyes focus on Natori's leg.

"Sorry," Takashi says perfunctorily.

Natori's mouth twitches as his gaze follows Takashi's to his leg.

"Don't worry, Natsume. I've had the clan's finest treat me," Natori says. He offers his closest approximation to a laugh—short and creaky.

Nyanko-sensei grumbles wordlessly, still biting around the knife hilt.

Matoba stands behind Natori, halfway out of the room. In the background, steam curls in the air. He is a forlorn figure in the face of Natori's retreating back. They listen to the asymmetric drag of his leg. One of Matoba's shiki obligingly slips through a wall and leads Natori forward.

In the silence, Takashi looks at Matoba.

Matoba looks at the knife.

"It seems," Matoba says, "that we will have an eventful morning tomorrow."

Matoba quietly retreats back into and room and slides the door close.

Takashi and Nyanko-sensei begin the walk back to their room.

Silence presses down upon them.

* * *

Morning dawns and the alarm bells begin to ring. The sun animates the undead from their nightly rest. They claw at the wall and the gate indiscriminately. The Matoba estate is the brightest beacon in the area.

Although the Matoba archers strike down the congregation of zombies periodically, the towns nearby hare beginning to provide enough fodder for a renewal each day. The pandemic is burning through the sightless population. No amount of decontamination can suppress the spread. The Matoba exorcists have only managed to stem the spread with an array of protective seals around the estate. There also seems to be a natural immunity that increases with a person's spiritual energy, according to Matoba and from what Nyanko-sensei has pieced together.

Takashi and Nyanko-sensei slide out of the futon. He rubs at his eyes, brushing away the remnants of sleep. The stretch of his aching muscles is halted by Nyanko-sensei's headbutt.

"Sensei!" Takashi reprimands.

Unrepentant, Nyanko-sensei plods expectantly to the door. His ears flick back.

Takashi deliberately spends time carefully dressing himself in non-sleepwear. Matoba is likely polite enough to delay the start of breakfast without both Takashi and Natori present. It is odd the way Matoba so carefully makes time to have meals with Takashi. The routine and, dare he say, the company are almost comforting. Takashi misses his…

Takashi walks to the door.

They arrive to the informal dining area, where both Matoba and Natori sit crosslegged in silence. Their gazes redirect in unison at the sight of the door sliding open.

"Glad you found the time to join us," Matoba says.

"Sensei's fault," Takashi says.

Nyanko-sensei yowls.

A faint smile ghosts Natori's lips.

For a second, all Takashi can see is the steam of tea and hot food. The grey curls of steam remind him of the fogs that are always rolling in. The fogs shroud the forms of the zombies but can do little to suppress their noises and the wail of the alarm bells.

The soft rustle of clothing and the prod of Nyanko-sensei's paws break Takashi out of his inattention. There is a certain quality to hot liquids being poured that settles Takashi's nerves. He watches Matoba pour gracefully. His long fingers gently curve around and grasp the handle of the tea pot.

Natori watches too.

In silence, they drink their tea and peck at the plates of food.

Natori is the first one to break the silence after they have finished eating. He straightens his spine and rests his hands on his lap.

"It is getting worse," Natori says calmly. His previous dishevelment is neatly hidden behind his amiable mask. Yet, there is no sparkle of vitality to him or any artlessly charming gestures to be made. His freshly washed hair hangs limply.

Nyanko-sensei harrumphs. "What? Think you're the only one who noticed?"

The placid waters of Natori's features do not ripple. He levels a cool look at Nyanko-sensei, acknowledging and dismissing him in an instant. It is the sort of behavior Takashi would expect from Matoba, but he supposes stress can ruin any man.

"Even if we kill the zombies, the yōkai behind it all continues to spread its energy from host to host. It seems that the sightless are affected the most. Most towns are in quarantine to prevent the zombies from moving and spreading," Natori says.

"Then how did you manage to get past the quarantines? I thought the Mikoshiba clan estate was a few towns over," Takashi says.

"The police—the military are more concerned with car travel. It was easy, even for an injured man like me, to get past. A little distraction and—" Natori begins to answer.

"Where are your shiki?" Matoba interrupts.

Natori's head dips briefly, staring at his lap. The fall of his hair and his glasses disguise the look in his eyes.

"Sasago...Hiiragi...Urihime," Takashi recites.

Nyanko-sensei leaps into Takashi's lap.

"I lost them in the last town," Natori admits. "The moonlight is losing its effectiveness. Or maybe it was some other yōkai that got them. I wouldn't be surprised."

"How unfortunate," Matoba says blandly.

Takashi's world pauses. He stares down at Nyanko-sensei in his lap. He could never imagine losing Nyanko-sensei and still being unruffled enough to talk about it the next day. Is that what being an adult is like? Compartmentalizing your grief and moving on. The luxury of ignoring your emotions when Takashi overflows. He wonders how Tou—…

"Do you think my parents are fine?" Takashi asks in a small voice. Neither Matoba nor Natori can really answer him but Takashi cannot help the question. Natori's shiki are dead. Natori has an injured leg and his lizard tattoo is dormant. Most of Japan is under quarantine and confined to government shelters. He has no idea which shelter his parents reside in. He only knows the city they visited for their anniversary. Any more details were left at their home and that area has probably been overrun. Takashi had put so much of himself into their home.

"Natsume," Nyanko-sensei says helplessly. His creaky old man's voice creaks even further.

Takashi wraps his arms around Nyanko-sensei. He cannot bear to look at Matoba and Natori. He does not want to look at their faces of pity, so audible in the silence neither breaks.

"Natsume-kun," Matoba says gently, "I hope you are not thinking of doing anything rash."

Takashi lifts up his head with a furrowed brow. "I'm not going to do anything stupid, alright. I know that it's safer like this. I'm not—I'm not just going to leave."

"Your parents would want you safe," Natori agrees. He even attempts a smile.

"I know," Takashi snaps. The anger takes him by surprise but he does not apologize. The words dry up in his mouth.

Takashi cannot take it. He stands up with Nyanko-sensei in his arms.

"I-I'm going to go on a walk around the gardens," Takashi says. The Matoba gardens now serve both aesthetic and practical purposes. The garden is in bloom.

* * *

Beneath a tree, Takashi and Nyanko-sensei sit. A rush of wind plays with their hair and wafts floral, earthy scents over to them. They can barely hear the zombies who ring the outside of the estate. Even the alarm bells are silent. In the silence, Takashi mulls over words begging to escape. Eventually, he firms his mouth and turns to face Nyanko-sensei.

"Sensei, would you mind helping me be selfish?" Takashi asks.

Nyanko-sensei lifts his head from his paws. A trilling "mrrr" escapes him.

"Sensei...do you think you could find the Fujiwaras for me? I know, I know it's dangerous. But we can't send Natori's paper men or Matoba's shiki. They'll be too weak to last long enough. Just check on them quickly—quickly enough that you don't attract any of the zombies. I just want..."

"Dangerous," Nyanko-sensei huffs. "I am the great Madara!"

Takashi smiles weakly at the declaration. That is the problem. Madara is so great that he is as much of a beacon as Takashi is. It is why they have been confined to the estate for so long. The idea of one of them venturing out alone is a truly desperate gambit. Yet, Nyanko-sensei is Takashi's only hope. Sensei is good at tracking and even if he is a beacon, he can fight them off, so long as they do not swarm him too much. Sensei can survive. Sensei has to survive.

"Thank you."

* * *

The sun is too ashamed to show its visage. It dares not shed light on the horrors below. Clouds drift across the sky with a laziness that the denizens below cannot afford. Fog rolls across the land, hanging suspended and obstructing sight.

Clouds of birds cover the sky, spooked by heavy footfalls. A rush of wind; a rush of feathers. There are no animals in the forest anymore—only the dead bloated with gases and beginning to liquefy. For the (spiritually) sightless, they make a gruesome sight.

All of the dead have one characteristic in common: no eyes. Their eye sockets are empty and hollow. Maggots nest within. If you look closely, they writhe but stay cloistered within.

Takashi's heart leaps in his chest with all the force of a caged animal ready to rend and tear prey. His legs swing back and forth with a dull thunk against the concrete wall. His high perch atop the concrete wall offers him a view of all of the zombies congregating below. If he topples to the ground, he would be devoured whole, physically and spiritually. His surroundings scream _warning, warning_ to him.

The sirens never stop wailing in this compound of theirs. The meaty thuds of bodies hitting concrete accompany the wailing—driven mad(der) by the sound. Tucked away in the mountainside, even this estate cannot escape the horrors of the world. The rotting dead do not rest. They walk endlessly in search of sustenance—animated by unknown (to the sightless) means.

**Author's Note:**

> Fic is unbetaed so I'm open to minor edits in addition to constructive criticism.
> 
> Anyways, it's been a lot of fun participating in the Big Bang! The minimum was 5k but here we are...
> 
> Just little sidenotes now: I was initially going to have Natori lose his entire left leg because of the whole lizard yokai tattoo thing but then realized if he lost his leg he probably would not survive...I was also thinking of expanding of the yokai behind everything and introduce a Reiko & Takashi side plot relating to that but opted for a less plot-busy fic and went for ambiguity. 
> 
> You can find me on on tumblr as [tunnelOFdawn](https://tunnelofdawn.tumblr.com/) and twitter as [tunnelOFdawn](https://twitter.com/tunnelOFdawn). I post fic previews and ficlets on tumblr; I post shorter ficlet threads on twitter.
> 
> Links for [fic on tumblr](https://tunnelofdawn.tumblr.com/post/187100687934/destruction-ohaihere-tunnelofdawn-natsume) and [art on tumblr](https://natsuyuubigbang.tumblr.com/post/187101456025/art-by-mazz-available-on-twitter-as-mazzewe-for).


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